


Say So

by seaquestions



Series: niko's deadceptor fics [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Cyberverse
Genre: (so nothing on-screen really), Awkward Dead End Is Awkward, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Canon, Resolved Sexual Tension, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:41:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23071132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaquestions/pseuds/seaquestions
Summary: Perceptor was toying with him.(And they were roommates!Oh my god, they were roommates...)
Relationships: Dead End/Perceptor
Series: niko's deadceptor fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668763
Comments: 12
Kudos: 119





	Say So

**Author's Note:**

> day to night to morning, keep with me in the moment  
> i'd let you had i known it, why don't you say so?  
> didn't even notice, no punches left to roll with  
> you got to keep me focused; you want it? [say so](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uAYG46w1SCA)

Perceptor was toying with him.

It's been this way for a few cycles since Dead End came to Maccadam's and made his awkward re-introduction. He hadn't exactly expected his transition into Autobot lifestyle to be smooth, but Perceptor wasn't making it easier.

Dead End wasn't sure if it's actually his fault or not.

If Perceptor brushed up against him more often than not, was it just a symptom of their close quarters? And if he kept his finish glossier than it was before, was it just because the war was over and he could afford it, or was it his intent to keep Dead End's optics lingering on his frame? His hands, if they lingered, was it just his imagination? Or did the Autobot want this, wanted Dead End to touch him, the way Perceptor tugged at his arms and leaned against his side and cocked his hip… But his face stayed neutral all the while. No coy smiles or anything. Was he misreading this? What does Perceptor want?

Dead End _needed_ to move out. Now.

The apartment above the bar that Perceptor so generously offered to let him stay in was too small for the two of them. Though maybe that was all in Dead End's imagination too. The way the walls seemed to shrink whenever Perceptor got just a touch too close made Dead End feel caught. Caught in this insidious little intimacy trap Perceptor strung up somehow. But maybe it was Dead End's fault for being weak. All it ever took to get his spark spinning was a touch, an accidental bump, a small quirk of the other mech's lips. Not even that! They could just be sitting on the couch, watching whatever inane thing the Autobots called entertainment, and Dead End would be overcome with the need to pull Perceptor onto his lap, dig his servos into the seams of the Autobot's inner thigh, mouth at his neck cables, grind their hips together…

“Hello? Cybertron to Dead End.” 

“—Huh?” Dead End snapped to reality. “What?”

Perceptor was facing him. “I asked what you thought of the contestant's attempt at a Kalisian molybdenum oilcake, but you were quite out of it.”

“Eh, well—”

“The episode is over now, so there's no point to answering that question.”

Dead End's optic twitched. “Right.”

Perceptor sighed, sinking on his side into the couch. His empty eyes revealed nothing as usual (he was still putting off his appointment with Ratchet) but the corners of his lips were tugged down. It made Dead End feel guilty. But for what? For not paying attention during The Great Iaconian Bake-Off? To be fair, it wasn't a _bad_ show but…

Suddenly, Perceptor leaned forward. Close! Too close! If Dead End hadn't leaned back reflexively, their frames would be touching.

“Dead End,” Perceptor started, “I'm tired.”

“…Hey, if you wanna go recharge, you can just go.”

That made Perceptor full-on scowl. Dead End's processor panicked. There must have been a right answer to that statement that he did not get.

Perceptor muttered something unintelligible under his breath.

“What was that?”

The other mech looked at him straight. “I _said_ , I can't believe I have to do this myself as well.”

Dead End's mind was blank. All he could focus on was the tiny little space between his chest and Perceptor's. “Do what?”

The microscope sank back down onto the couch with a frustrated sigh. Dead End breathed his own sigh of relief.

The room was silent for a few kliks, save for the episodes playing in the background. Dead End allowed his processor to slow down.

Perceptor spoke up again. “You know that I could always feel your EM field, right?”

And all of a sudden, Dead End's processor was screeching again.

The Autobot stood up, grabbed the remote, and turned the TV off. He threw the remote on the couch and took one last glance at the mech on the couch before going towards his room.

Said mech was, naturally, having a little freak out.

This whole time… This whole time he'd been the idiot. (That's not that surprising, but still.) He hadn't been misreading things. Perceptor was nowhere near as touchy with anyone else, he was the exception, it should have been so very obvious, and yet Dead End had been stalling this whole time.

He's still stalling right now.

The door to Perceptor's quarters was ajar. Inviting him. The walls shrank again. His fuel pump quickened.

He's not scared of being rejected. He's scared…

He's scared of being accepted.

Wanting is one thing, wanting is something he's been doing his whole life. But _having_ is a completely different world, one he isn't used to.

There's _no way_ Dead End wasn't going to frag this all up. He already kind of did already. The door leading out of the apartment was on the other side. He could leave, and spare himself the effort.

Just leave. Take it out of your mind. No effort required, no pain, no frustration. 

No Perceptor.

And that was it, he thought, that was the thing that made the difference. Dead End's legs got up and started walking without his input.

The door to Perceptor's room was light when he pushed it further open.

Perceptor was lying down on his berth, reading a datapad through a cable on his wrist. When Dead End took a step inside, his scope turned to look, and he unplugged the cable.

The two stayed still in a silence for a beat.

“Should I close the—”

“—Close the door.”

The lock clicked when Dead End pushed it shut. Perceptor sat up and beckoned for the mech to sit down. Dead End complied. (He always does, he always would. Maybe he enjoys it.)

All it took for him to act, in the end, was Perceptor reaching out to tilt Dead End's head up with a finger and say: “I want this.”

Perceptor's hands were rough when they tugged him closer, but his lips were soft when Dead End pressed them against his. Their head crests bumped. Maybe Dead End was overeager. Maybe Perceptor was as well, when he hooked a leg behind Dead End and pulled him over him when he laid back down. Dead End's engine rumbled, and it made Perceptor shiver.

Dead End pulled his lips away, working downwards to worship the glass on the Autobot's chest. He felt their frames heat up, their fields intermingling. This was the first time he felt Perceptor's field. It was always kept so tight, so imperceivable. Maybe that was just what Perceptor was forged with. The constant closeness made sense, then.

Perceptor wanted Dead End the same way this whole time.

Dead End huffed a laugh. “Why didn't you ever just say so?”

Two arms placed themselves around his neck as he pushed himself up to look at Perceptor.

The Autobot tilted his head and gave him a coy little smile. “Why didn't _you_?”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! 😘


End file.
